


Out of Breath

by Wildmutfruit



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Depression, Kinktober 2020, Loss, Other, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29523465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildmutfruit/pseuds/Wildmutfruit
Summary: Lunara finds herself in a new and unforgiving world. Struggling to cope, she visits the ghosts of her old life, chasing anything to silence her regret.
Kudos: 3





	Out of Breath

**Author's Note:**

> 2020 Kinktober challenge: Asphyxiation  
> TW: Self harm

Lunara smoothed the rotten sheets down, tucking in the edges, just as she’d done two weeks before, two hundred years ago. She would have thought that the nuclear winds would have disturbed them more, but they were barely out of place.

They’d been fresh then, still warm from the morning sun, when the world was still green. She remembered the feeling of them in her hands as she flicked them out, Nate on the other side, discussing something she had never really heard. They should have just laid back down that morning, fallen back to sleep. They’d been tired enough. She would have never heard the door. Maybe they would have slept through the sirens, and woken to white light and sweet oblivion.

She wandered to their wardrobe, eyes avoiding his side, thumbing through her things, all almost unrecognisable. She remembered where she’d put everything though. This one was the work uniform from the little job she hated, that Nate was so proud of. That one, her formal dress for Nate’s work dinners, where she’d hang on his arm and smile graciously for CEOs.

She stopped at one particular dress. It had been her favourite. She’d wear it as she shopped for groceries, fantasizing about leaving him and making an existence where she wasn’t an extra in her own life. Maybe it managed to grant her wish. She wasn’t an extra anymore.

It was a floral dress, with a black sash, now blackened and falling apart. She ran the sash between her fingers, the acrylic fabric still strong, although the life had left it long ago. It was as limp and tired as everything in this house, including Lunara herself.

She remembered Nate’s hands once holding the same sash, standing behind her, the heat of him pressing into her, running the fabric over her neck, wrapping it around just once, tightening it, leading her with it, just as he’d led her into marriage and life in a cul-de-sac; with all the best intentions.

Lunara did just the same now, standing alone in that haunted place. She twisted it once around her neck, and gently tugged the ends away from each other. She felt the light squeeze around her neck, giving her the faintest taste of adrenaline.

 _I could just-_ She squeezed again, tighter this time, feeling her heart beating in her head. After a moment she let go, the rushing in her ears fading away.

She sat back down on the bed, sash in hand. She recalled the night he’d led her there. The way he’d fucked her slowly, as she dreamed of a different life. He’d been a good man, and she’d wished him away.

Tears ran down her cheeks, turning cold before they dropped down from her chin. She’d wished all of this away. Now she had nothing, with no way forward.

She wrapped the sash back around her neck, squeezing tight again. This time, she held on. The world became fuzzy, an industrial sounding hum she couldn’t place buzzing in her ears. The next thing she knew, the buzzing was fading back in from whiteness, and she was staring at her hands, no longer holding onto the sash. They shook violently from lack of oxygen. For a few blissful seconds, she’d somehow stopped existing.

She sat back on the bed, ignoring the thick dust and grime, and tried to think of Nate. Nate with the smile that won everyone over. Nate, that fucked her so kindly and predictably.

Lunara rubbed herself over her vault suit, trying to evoke him. She felt numb. Tears continued to fall as she unzipped her suit, and tried using her bare fingers to circle her clit. Nothing.

She sat up a little, on her knees, and tightened the sash around her neck again. Tighter this time. She held it there for a while, her vision beginning to become confused, the rushing returning, but oblivion didn’t come. She squeezed tighter, but it didn’t come. She let go, silent tears giving way to a single sob. She noted her hands shaking again, her head seemed to shake, unsteady from oxygen deprivation. She touched herself again, the slightest hint of pleasure humouring her, still muted by grief and exhaustion. She tried to think of Nate. Nothing.

Again.

She grabbed the ends, twisting them at her throat, and pulled hard. Before she knew it, the world was fading back in, her whole body swaying and trembling like leaves of a windy day. She looked down at her hands, once again having released the sash of their own volition, useless and trembling from lack of oxygen.

She laughed, which turned into sobbing, and back to laughing. She felt sick, her head felt cold, her lips numb. Her thoughts were slow. She tried to touch herself again. It was as if she’d died, and all her grief with her. Heaven was nothing at all, she was certain. She’d just touched it.

Again.

She pulled hard, and tried to stay conscious enough to remember the oblivion. She noted that she could still breathe, the lack of blood flow being what took her away. _Oh, it’s not working, then. I’m still thinking... I..._

The next thing she knew she was shaking, the industrial hum fading away. When had she left consciousness? She laughed again, glad Nate couldn’t see her now, his “Lil Lady” gripped by madness. She touched herself, pressing as hard as she could, not knowing if she could feel anything or not. She was wet, but still mostly numb. Her faculties returned infuriatingly quickly, although the lightheadedness remained. She sobbed again, and screamed loudly into the empty house.

Again. Tighter. Maybe she would stay.

She held her breath, hastening her escape. Reality slipped away. She heard herself make a strange groan, body struggling against the self made threat, and she pulled tighter. This time she awoke on the floor, her entire body spasming. For the sweetest of seconds she had no idea who she was or what was happening. She was just a body on a floor.

As reality returned, she clung to the nothingness, the lack of identity. The trembles returned, the buzzing numbness with it. It sent pure thrill through her, her freshly conscious mind ahead of her struggling body, watching it move unnaturally, as if from the outside. She rubbed herself vigorously, gracelessly. Her cheeks were cold, her fingers numb. She pretended they weren’t hers. She could feel tension now. She was human. She could feel, then.

She knew she shouldn’t. She was pushing herself too far. Another laugh-come-sob escaped from her. She knew she wasn’t likely to die. Her unconscious hands couldn’t hold the sash tight enough to do the job. They’d let go, and she’d come back, over and over. But what if she didn’t... one or two knots could change everything.

She crawled back onto the bed.

Again.

The nothingness came to her fast now, her mind struggling to keep up with the oxygen starvation. Her head ached. Oblivion came, her thoughts unreachable. She came to with words on her lips that seemed to come from nowhere. Was it really her mouth that whispered it?

‘But I let go...’ She’d said to the empty air.

More. Tighter. Again.

The nothingness was instant.

‘Hey, hey.’ A voice. Lunara conceived of something slapping her cheek, though she couldn’t feel it, could she? ‘Can you hear me?’ it asked.

 _Oh,_ she perhaps thought. Her legs and arms were trembling violently. She was on the ground again, and there was a voice. There was a man, in fact. A handsome man, with a nice hat and dark skin. He was hitting her face. Did he realise his hand wasn’t working? She couldn’t feel it.

‘Ma’am’. His eyes skimmed over her open vault suit, and the sash that was now loose around her reddened neck. He looked back to her face. ‘Answer me please. Can you hear me?’

‘Yes.’ Lunara most likely said. The man looked relieved, and covered her with his coat. She wasn’t sure where she was. She struggled to sit up. Oh. Her room. Her house. The bombs... she broke down.

The man crossed her arms over her chest, and held her tight in his arms from behind. Tears and snot steamed from Lunara as she gasped for air through her shuddering sobs, clinging to the stranger, the first person she’d met in this hell-scape.

‘My name is Preston, and I’m with the Minutemen. It seems like you need help. You’re not alone, Ma’am. We’ve got you. I’ve got you.’


End file.
